I Want To Eat You Up
by nicodreams
Summary: Don't be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf. He might just be as lonely as you are.
1. Chapter 1

**I Want To Eat You Up** (Derek/Stiles, PG for swearing)

This is what happened when I expanded **Le Petit Chaperon Rouge à la **_**Teen Wolf**_ (found at my LJ, but you don't have to have read that to get this). This is also inspired somewhat by Saucery's **Cinder-Boy and the Nightmare Prince** over at AO3.

Summary: Don't be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf. He might just be as lonely as you are.

* * *

"Oh my god." Stiles is, for once in his life, glad he can't see. The noises are enough.

"Oh my god!"

Is there an echo in here? No, that was definitely not Stiles's voice. It was a girl's. As in, belonging to the girl that Scott was… is… currently… in.

Stiles thinks his brain is broken.

"Allison, it's fine, he's blind!"

Thanks, Scott. Stellar move, there. Quality best friendsmanship.

"I'm just gonna… go. Somewhere. Somewhere that is not here. Right. Bye. You kids… have fun."

Stiles skedaddles.

He's an expert skedaddler, as it were. He's quite proud of his skedaddling skills, given his vision deficiency. He has skedaddled his way out of many a sticky situation in his time. Although he hasn't encountered quite this type of sticky situation before so up close and personal.

He needs to stop thinking about it.

He needs to stop thinking about it, because thinking about it will only drive home the fact that he and Scott are not kids anymore. The fact that, one day soon, Scott is going to have to start working full-time as a stable hand or something that just doesn't require higher brain function, and Stiles is not. Stiles _cannot_.

Stiles is, and always will be, an outsider in Beacon Hills. A useless outsider, at that, unfit for any real job and surviving only on his wits and a fair amount of pity, inspired by his (as he hears it) endearing face but cut back somewhat by his runaway mouth.

It's not like he can help it. Sometimes he'll hear Lady Argent's voice inside his head, telling him to shut up or get out, she never wanted to be saddled with his lazy ass in the first place, she only took him in out of the kindness of her heart, _so shut the fuck up_.

Despite having been told this all his life, Stiles has never really internalized the order. Instead, he internalized its implications, and isn't that a great feeling, learning at age way-too-fucking-young that the one person he trusted _didn't even want him_.

He convinces himself that his mother wanted him. That she only left him at Beacon Hills because she absolutely had to, because she believed that Lady Argent would give him a good home. He spins a castle for himself, with his mother and father as the greatest rulers ever to live, nothing like the Whittemores. Maybe his father had to go out and fight evil; that sounds good. Stiles can't stand a bully, so he's sure that his father would be the Protector of the Small or whatnot. And then maybe while he was gone off fighting evil, evil came to the castle instead. It's not that hard to imagine; court intrigue is practically the bread and butter of the people here. His mother had probably been too trusting. Stiles is, even though he shouldn't be.

So maybe she had to flee their castle – which would be way better than the Whittemores', Stiles's is sure of it – carrying baby Stiles along with her. And then things get a little hazy, but for some good reason, she had to leave him at Beacon Hills.

What happens after that, Stiles doesn't need to imagine. It was the hottest gossip in town for years – Lady Martin being still too young at that point to give his arrival any real competition. Lady Kate Argent, well known to be scornful of giving up her freedom to man and child, took him in. Stories about as to why abound, ranging from "she saw a soul in need" (the Argents' story) to "temporary insanity" (the servants'). Stiles knows, though, that it's neither of those. Kate Argent – she's no lady in his mind, though he has to be careful never to say that out loud – took him in because of _power_, because she liked the thought of having a person so dependent on her that his or her very survival rested on her whim. That person just so happened to come along in the form of Stiles.

Stiles supposes he's lucky, because without her… kindness… he'd probably be dead by now. Or maybe he'd just be happily living with a couple of villagers who took him in because they couldn't have children of their own and so they'd love _him_ as their own and –

But that's not what happened, so there's no point in thinking about it. While he'll never give up his dreams of his parents – though he knows better than to share them with anyone but Scott – he's not one to torment himself endlessly with what ifs and maybes. So he only torments himself with one: _maybe one day they'll come back for him_.

And maybe then he'll finally learn why they gave him a name no one could pronounce, because honestly, what's up with that. Maybe he's foreign. Nobody's ever used that as an insult, though, and if they could they would, so he at least looks like everyone else around here. The only thing that hints at Stiles's life before Beacon Hills is the embroidered blanket he was left in. He's pretty sure an embroidered blanket is the ultimate sign of secretly royal parents. Lady Argent says his whore mother probably stole it. Stiles doesn't care what she says because she let him keep it, instead of burning it like she had always threatened. The only reason she hadn't, Stiles thinks, is because there's really no good explanation for burning your adopted blind son's only tie to his birth family. Also, she's not really allowed near fire. Stiles still hasn't figured out why yet, but he will one day.

But Stiles digresses. The point – and there is a point, Stiles is sure of it – is that he and Scott are not children anymore. And while that seems to be working out pretty fine for Scott (Lady Allison is a catch, if Scott's frankly pathetic attempts at poetry have anything to say on the matter; _also she's a Lady, what the fuck Scott, this will not end well for you_, not that Scott listened to Stiles during his months of pining, so he's definitely not going to listen now that he's, er, succeeded romantically), it leaves Stiles nowhere except behind. Stiles: Left Behind. It's basically his life summary.

By this point, Stiles has meandered his way out of the servants' quarters and into the kitchen. Being blind from birth and raised in the same household all his life, paired with his rampant inquisitiveness and Scott's easy friendship, means that Stiles knows the castle inside out, probably better than anybody else, too. So he has no trouble finding places, and all the other servants have learned to avoid him as he barrels through the corridors, with or without Scott. And he definitely has no trouble finding the kitchen because, well, if there's one thing Stiles can be counted on to do promptly and without complaint, it's eating.

He feels welcome in the kitchen because at least there he can wash dishes (the pots and pans, of course, not the nice ones) and be somewhat useful. He knows there are scullery maids a plenty for this job, but Mrs. McCall rules the kitchen and she's always had a soft spot for him, so. And the girls like him, too, because he'll keep them entertained throughout their chores with a running commentary on whatever subject they want.

/

He's still in the kitchen when Scott shows up, maybe twenty minutes later. One minute he's peacefully washing some pots, chattering away about this cat he had encountered – at least he thinks it was a cat, it possibly could've been something else, he's not sure – and the next he's being roughly manhandled by Scott.

"You didn't say anything, right? My mother would kill me, and oh god, the Argents _would literally kill me_, oh god –"

Stiles cuts in before Scott has a full-blown meltdown.

"Relax. Everybody thinks I have no filter. I do, it's just a very large filter. I mean, the holes are large, you get what I'm saying? Like it only keeps in the big things. And since you anging-bay – wait, how do you say Allison in Pig Latin? … llllison-ay? …Ow! Stop hitting me, I'm whispering, it's fine. Anyway, _that thing that you're doing_, or rather, that person, heh, since that's big news, it stays inside! That's what I'm saying."

Stiles thinks about tapping his nose, too, but that might be overdoing it. Plus, he has soap all over his hands. He settles for nodding in what he hopes is a sage manner.

He can feel Scott relax – because he had been _gripping_ Stiles in his impetuous way, forgetting (as per usual) that Stiles has very delicate skin – only to have him tense up again at his mother's sharp, "Scott! What are you doing in here! Do not distract Stiles, he has way too many pots to clean. And don't you have something you should be doing?"

Stiles likes that Mrs. McCall doesn't mollycoddle him. Ok, she does, but she makes him work for it, too.

Scott shuffles away with a forlorn, "Yes, mother," and Stiles is left once again with his pots.

"Oh, and Stiles, I've packed your basket for tomorrow; I'll leave it in the usual place."

Fuck, that's right; tomorrow is his monthly visit to Lady Argent. Ever since she went batshit insane – well, more batshit insane than she had been – she's been living in the forest. And because she still likes having Stiles at her beck and call, he has to go every month to bring her food. Great idea, making the blind kid learn how to navigate his way through a forest. He managed it, though, through sheer force of will and desire to show everyone that he can. Now he can find his way to her house and back without even thinking about it, and to several other places he's found, too. Stiles has never turned down an opportunity for adventure, so he treats the forest like a game. Scott helped him a lot.

For all that Scott's kind of an idiot, and maybe a little selfish when it comes to Allison, he's also the best friend Stiles could have ever hoped for.

"Thanks, Mrs. McCall. I'll be sure to – oh my god, is that pie I smell?"

Mrs. McCall laughs affectionately – Stiles hopes his mother got to laugh at his antics like that, at least once – and brings him a slice.

"But you only get one this time! We have special guests this evening, and they eat like wolves."

This last comment earns a tiny chuckle from a few of the other servants.

Stiles would like to respond to her, he really would, but his mouth and mind are too full of pie – and ew, also soap, ew, he really needs to work on impulse control and taking his time – to do anything but mumble.

But if he had the capacity to form words or thoughts beyond, _dear lord yes let me marry this pie_, he might've started worrying. Mrs. McCall hadn't chosen that simile for nothing, after all.

* * *

A/N: It's the middle of finals and I decide to start another story! Good job me. Unbeta'd. Reviews are loved!


	2. Chapter 2

**I Want To Eat You Up chapter 2** (Derek/Stiles, PG for swearing, ~3200 words)

Warning for minor ableism.

Also, haha, finals shminals.

* * *

Look closely, and Stiles thinks the cracks might be visible, but nobody ever does; as far as everybody else is concerned, he's fine. When he was younger, he used to feel like he might fly apart, like his body couldn't contain him, like he'd rather die than hear _useless fucking brat, why'd I even take you in – you can't do anything right_. Or worse, _I'm so proud of you_.

The pride was worse than the disappointment because it only ever came after he did things that make him want to scrub at his skin for hours, even now. The one time she ever hugged him – the one time she had ever showed real affection for him – was after he helped her drop a bag into the river. He'd been so eager to please; he'd carefully combed the riverside with his fingers, finding rocks for her to weigh the bag down.

He later found out that he'd help her to drown a litter of puppies when she had laughed about how she'd fooled everyone into thinking they had all gone to new homes. He couldn't sleep through the night for a week after that, and whatever pride Lady Argent might've felt died when he started wetting the bed again.

She showered Lady Allison with gifts and affection; she was the best aunt in the world.

Stiles knew he could never tell on Lady Argent – call him useless, but he's never been stupid – but it hurt that he couldn't even whisper it to his best friends either. Mrs. McCall may be the only one with an inkling of what he went through, and she made sure to help as much as she could. Things became easier after Lady Argent left.

Really, the only reason that Lady Argent hadn't actually managed to damage him beyond repair was her sudden move six years ago, when he was ten, and Mrs. McCall taking over after that – she had already basically been his fill-in mother given his friendship with Scott, but after Lady Argent's withdrawal to the forest it became more permanent.

It's something of a mess, his situation, because the Duke and Duchess don't really want to take care of him, but they can't let him be kicked out, either, since he's tied to their family. And while Lady Argent is a nasty piece of work, her brother and his wife are nice people at heart, just concerned with their image. Stiles understands – in order to get anywhere in court here, you have to be flawless. Outwardly, that is. None of the servants Stiles knows has nearly so many secrets as the courtiers here.

/

Beacon Hills is relatively well to do, because for all that the Whittemores are and always have been a snobby bunch, they're a snobby bunch with good instincts for money. And since Beacon Hills is their capital, and its well-being reflects back on them, the people of Beacon Hills aren't too badly off. Given the Whittemores' emphasis on _more money_, however, their generosity comes at a price: anybody who doesn't work but physically should be able to gets kicked out.

He himself has only survived here because of his tie to the Argents, and because of the odds and ends he does in the kitchen that everyone refers to as "work" whenever the steward comes around.

It helps that the steward also likes him, ever since Stiles figured out who had been stealing the silver that one time (honestly, just because he can't see doesn't make him deaf too – he has dirt on _everyone_), so it's not too hard to keep the Whittemores' disapproval at bay.

Given that the steward is a decent man, too, nobody found out that Stiles had been the source. It's not that Stiles is a snitch, but stealing is wrong and the thief was a huge douche anyway. Well, by normal standards. Stiles supposes he should adjust his standards to incorporate Prince Jackson's douchebaggery, but then everyone else would pale in comparison.

Where the King and Queen are coldly calculating in their every gesture, Prince Jackson is brash and obnoxious, kept in line only by his parents' expectations. Stiles and Scott, as the lowly servants who somehow managed to befriend Lady Allison when they were all children, have been the lucky recipients of a larger-than-average amount of his cruelty.

Scott has to weather the brunt of the physical blows, because no marks could show on Lady Argent's little pet cripple, and yeah, Stiles bruises easily. Clearly, though, Prince Jackson doesn't hold anything back in his verbal abuse. And for all that his approach is blunt and obvious, and kind of just dumb, that doesn't stop it from hurting.

Stiles comforts himself, saying that some day his parents will finally force him to grow up. Obviously they don't care about his victims, but they'll care (_soon, please_) that the future ruler of their kingdom might have a negative reputation.

The Whittemores like to be called benevolent. Mostly, though, they just know they can make more money off of well-fed peasants. They can curb their own selfishness if it serves their own ends. Stiles admires them for that. He recognizes that they're greedy little bastards who would just as easily take everything they could if it served their purposes better, but he can appreciate their intelligence.

From what he hears in the stories told by travellers (honestly, the kitchen is the best place _ever_), most ruling families are just dumb, their kingdoms only surviving because the land has been exceedingly fertile for the past few decades. Perhaps this is why all the other rulers don't bother being smart, don't bother saving and investing in the people like the Whittemores do – they're probably convinced that the land will continue to humor them forever.

It's rather stupid of them, to think that way, but Stiles supposes it's easy to be lulled into a false sense of security after a couple of decades. Rulers now don't know what it's like to have a kingdom on the brink of famine, what life was like before the Five Kingdoms were formed.

Stiles knows because Mrs. McCall wanted Scott to learn how to read and a tattered old history of the Five Kingdoms – written just after the Five Kingdoms were formed – was one of the books they found that no one would miss. Stiles by extension learned this history, because Scott refused to sit still for longer than five minutes without him. Not that Stiles was any better with the sitting still – worse, in fact – but together they could at least bear it.

So Stiles knows. He knows about how the land had not always been so generous, and when people became hungrier and hungrier, they became more violent. He knows that the current rulers of the Five Kingdoms came from nothing but peasants – not that there's anything wrong with that in Stiles's opinion, but he's pretty sure they would rather die than admit it, if they're even aware of it themselves – but give anything a few decades, and fiction becomes history. The Whittemores particularly have been thorough in their revision of the truth. There's a tapestry in the main hall, detailing their lineage and tracing it back generations, all kings and queens.

The fact that they could even find this book was a small miracle, since Stiles figures the current rulers would want all evidence like this destroyed. But this castle has been around for a long time, and if the current Whittemores don't know all the nooks and crannies after having lived here for decades, then the originals surely didn't either. Stiles and Scott had actually found it during one of their many escapades; they had been so proud, running into the kitchen and brandishing it about.

Mrs. McCall, upon realizing what it was, had been quick to praise them on finding new book of folktales. Since neither of the boys had bothered to figure out what the book was actually about before storming the kitchen, there had been no contention. In fact, there had been full-on rejoicing, since the folktales they already had were their favorites.

They're still Stiles's favorites, actually. The one about the Others gets him every time. Scott says he has "matured" beyond them (and didn't that send Stiles into a fit of really unfortunate snort-giggling when he said it), but Stiles thinks they're timeless. Honestly, what could be cooler than stories that made Beacon Hills more interesting? Because Beacon Hills really needs all the help it can get.

The only thing of note in all of Stiles's lifetime was Lady Argent's sudden move, and nobody can really talk about it because she's _fucking scary as shit_, no lie, and even six years later everybody's still scared she'll pop out from behind a tapestry and eviscerate them. Verbally of course – she had a way with words and sinking them like claws into her victims' hearts. …It's entirely possible she would eviscerate them literally too. Suffice it to say, nobody really talks about the one major thing to happen in Beacon Hills in the past decade or so, meaning that Stiles has to find his entertainment in stories from centuries past.

By now, he can just recite them by heart, after having had Scott read them to him endlessly as children. Sometimes, when he's cleaning the pots and he can't talk about his own life because Prince Jackson's just been a nastier dick than usual (and sure, there's some grumbling below-stairs, but there're limits and Stiles's filter is not always reliable), he'll gift the kitchen with his fabulous storytelling abilities. Some of the tales have been embellished so many times he's no longer sure what he and the other servants added and what was there to begin with, but the tale about the Others is sacred.

There's just something about it that gives Stiles a full-body thrill every time he tells it. This may partly stem from the fact that it's the one story that's still told regularly, though most people don't know the original, instead only using the idea of the Others as a warning.

Mothers still tell their children not to misbehave, because _the Others eat bad children for breakfast_; don't trust a stranger, because _he could be an Other ready to claim you as his own_. Nobody knows why this story is the one that grips Beacon Hills, since nobody has actually ever encountered anyone (or anything) that might be qualified as an "Other." Descriptions range from horrifying to just plain weird to weirdly romanticized – women seem to enjoy the "claiming" thing.

Ever since he confessed that Danny, another boy who works with Scott in the stables now, has nice muscles (finding out honestly hadn't been Stiles's fault, he just tripped and then, hello, have some abs in your face, and why not some biceps to cling onto on the side), the women in the kitchen have no problem sharing their secret fantasies with him.

No matter how much he protests that Lady Martin is the one for him – what can he say, he likes a bossy lady; plus, when they were forced to socialize back when Lady Argent was still here, she never once mentioned that he was different (although, honestly, it might just have been that she never noticed, given the amount of attention, or lack thereof, that she ever spared him) – the kitchen as a whole now persists in including him as they talk about men and what they want to do to them. Secretly, and Stiles will never ever admit it out loud unless there's a whole pie involved, he might just enjoy it a little. Because seriously, Danny has some nice muscles.

Sometimes Stiles worries that he spends too much time surrounded by women, but then they give him food, so it's ok.

/

Stiles always gets up early on the days he has to visit Lady Argent because it's a full-day affair. She really chose the deepest, and what Stiles imagines is also the darkest, corner of the forest. Well, to be technical, the deepest, darkest… middle part. Scott, who helped him find his way for the first year (and then continued tagging along for a few after that so that they could explore the forest afterwards), used to say the trees got scarier as they got closer to her house, but Stiles is pretty sure he was either messing with him or hallucinating, because how do trees get scarier?

If it was the former, however, Scott managed to convince even himself that he was telling the truth, and he worked himself up into such bad asthma attacks that Stiles always let him wait outside the fence that Lady Argent had had built while Stiles went in alone.

Actually, as far as Stiles knows, he's the only person ever to go all the way to Lady Argent's forest house. Her family, more sane than she, refuses to visit her out there. Stiles would congratulate them on their good choice, except that it means that Lady Argent literally has no other human contact save for him, unless the other forest crazies come out and join her. It's entirely possible.

(King Whittemore doesn't really accept mental illness as an excuse not to work; they're the majority of those who are kicked out. So, yeah, for all Stiles knows, Lady Argent is now Queen of the Lunatics.

Such a title would suit her – better than "Lady," at any rate.)

When he gets to the kitchen to pick up the basket, only the scullery maids are there, starting the fires for the ovens. He gets them to scavenge around with him for leftover pie, but sadly Mrs. McCall had been right – the guests, whoever they are, had just gone to town. In fact, there aren't _any_ leftovers. Stiles is impressed despite himself.

So he sets off, with only some sad, lonely bread in his stomach, and he's happy to find it's a nice day out. There's only one thing worse than trying to pick his way around tree roots and branches blind, and that's trying to pick around them blind when they're wet. The trees might protect him from actually getting rained on, but the water will always make its way to the ground, and leaves become slippery motherfuckers.

Luckily, the Argents want Stiles to continue to be able to visit the Duke's wayward sister, and to do that, Stiles needs a reliable path, so the Duke makes sure to have the route regularly cleared. Even these poor souls haven't been to the actual house, though, because Lady Argent won't let them within the fence's boundaries.

He's about halfway there, if he remembers correctly (and he does), when shit starts to get freaky. Stiles likes to think that, since he can't see, his other senses are heightened. It seems only fair, and logical to boot. So when he thinks he hears someone else near him, he manfully _does not squeak_ and bravely calls out, "Who's there?"

And by "bravely" he means "stupidly," because he wasn't joking about the crazies. But ignoring the problem can't be any smarter, right?

_Wrong, Stiles, wrong, just mind your own business and you'll be fine._ Well, too late now, so he may as well try again, because why the hell not.

"Hello? How about a bit of compassion, you know, for the blind kid. Reveal yourself! As in, speak. Since I can't… see anything."

Stiles knows that he makes it easy for the other kids to mock him – not that that's a good reason for them to do it, but honestly. Sometimes he should just keep his mouth shut.

He gets a growl in response.

"Oh my god, _Jesus Christ_, what was that, please tell me that was my stomach?"

Some more noises, sort of like a snuffling, and the source is getting closer.

As suspected, not his stomach.

Stiles thinks about throwing the basket as a weapon, but a) let's be real, he'd miss, and b) Lady Argent wouldn't accept the excuse of, "A giant monster attacked me and I had to let go or die," so "I heard growling" probably isn't going to cut it.

He ends up huddling against a tree instead. Because running only makes predators want to give chase, right? Stiles has no real life experience with such things, even after six years of monthly visits to Lady Argent, but that's what all the stories say. As in, the _folktale_ about the Others. And what else does he have to go off of, at this point?

So: no running, because it'll (he'll?) definitely chase you; no squealing, because then you sound like prey; no bleeding, because then you'll _smell_ like prey; no red in general… Actually Stiles isn't sure what's up with that one. Maybe just the suggestion of blood sends them into a frenzy.

Oh my god, what if he's wearing red? _How the fuck is he supposed to know?_

Cue freakout.

"Hey, man, woman, beastie, I don't even know – but I'm sorry if my clothing offends you, alright? It's not my fault! Who knows what I'm wearing? Not this guy!"

Pressed against a tree, with the basket clutched to his chest, Stiles curses his inability to shut up.

On the bright side, the other guy hasn't responded, so maybe it's just a deer? A hungry deer. It was the deer's stomach, and it wants the food in his basket.

"Well too bad, deer! You aren't getting any of this. This is for Lady Argent. Lady Kate 'I-will-end-you' Argent. So back off! Deer. Shoo."

Why does he say these things out loud.

The… _thing_ that breathes down his neck in the next second _is most definitely not a deer_.

_Shit shit shit_.

Stiles can deal with Prince Jackson's bullying. He can deal with Lady Argent's abuse. Well, he can compartmentalize it and work through it and not let it dictate his life; he can _deal_. He's by no means weak, but he's also by no means prepared to fight off unknown predators while he's alone in the woods.

"Lady Kate Argent?"

The voice that whispers in his ear… It's not human. Stiles shivers when the breath ghosts at his ear as the voice continues.

"I knew I was right to follow you. Your scent is just so – how to put this delicately – _divine_, I was intrigued. And now I find out you know, rather intimately it seems, Lady Kate 'I-will-end-you' Argent? …An appropriate title, whether you knew it or not."

Stiles's mind is blank in sheer panic, but this doesn't stop his mouth.

"Oh, well, you know. I just said that… I don't know why I said that. But, appropriate, huh? How so?"

The man – Stiles is just going to call it a man, because calling it anything else is just too much right now – chuckles.

"Fishing for information? From me? You just get better and better. I think we're going to have some fun."

Stiles is beyond sure he doesn't want this "fun" to happen.

"But, regrettably, it'll have to wait for another time. Let's not tell anyone about this little chat, hmm?"

And with that, the man traces a finger across Stiles's face, from where his ear meets his jawline to his mouth, and taps it against his lips in a mockery of the gesture for silence.

Except it's not a finger. It's a claw, _a motherfucking claw._

"Since you can't see me, I figured I'd help you feel the message… Until next time, my delicious one."

And then he's gone. Maybe. Stiles wouldn't know, because he's focusing all brain function on _not pissing himself._

What. The. Fuck.

He can't wait to tell Scott.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, I certainly wasn't expecting to be updating so soon. I was, however, expecting to get a lot more accomplished in this chapter, so looks like this fic is going to be longer than I had anticipated. Especially since I decided to throw in a history for "The Five Kingdoms"? What's up with that. Anyway, sadly this type of speedy update won't happen again, because I really need to teach myself multivariable calculus lol. Also, I have been taken over by the urge to write Veela!Stiles fic. But never fear! No matter how long it takes, I will finish this story :)

Unbeta'd, so forgive any mistakes, and reviews are loved!


	3. Chapter 3

**I Want To Eat You Up** **chapter 3** (Derek/Stiles, PG for swearing, ~3200 words)

(Warning: Vague mentions of past violence and animal cruelty)

As usual, reviews are loved (thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far!), and unbeta'd.

* * *

As much as Stiles would like to return to the castle immediately and inform Scott and figure out how to investigate more –

(Because, honestly, you can't just tell Stiles not to talk about something; that just backfires. He's only kept his mouth shut about Allison and Scott so far out of deep-seated loyalty and a legitimate fear for Scott's life. And, ok, so this guy is probably the King of Midnight Murder and talking about him is not the safest idea, but it's not like Stiles is gossip-worthy material. At this point, everybody will just assume he's made it up to make his retelling of the Others tale more interesting. Plus, he only wants to tell Scott, and Scott isn't likely to spread it around.)

– he really has to get to Lady Argent's house. She's not the most patient of women, even at the best of times. And today is not one of those times, because joy of joys, isn't Stiles's life just a blast, this month is the anniversary of her move. Which also makes it the anniversary of the reason for her move. Even though it's been six years, Stiles still doesn't know exactly what happened.

He's figured out that it's related to fire; that part wasn't hard. For as long as Stiles can remember, Duchess Argent would not let her sister-in-law near a fire. Ever.

Duchess Argent told everyone that Lady Argent had been in an accident and fire scared her now. Lady Argent played along, but it was obvious that that's all it was – playing along.

So there were rumors, because there are always rumors. Years ago, around the same time Lady Argent became banned from fire, the King's kennels burned down.

The coincidence is almost too obvious. But Stiles knows Lady Argent's feelings towards dogs – he _still_ has nightmares – so he has no trouble believing the worst.

She wasn't even allowed to come to Full Moon Festivals, which _everyone_ attends, because of the sparklers and bonfires… Actually, probably just because of the bonfires. She was pleased about this, though, Stiles knew. She always complained about them as barbarian and sickening and tried to forbid him from going too, but the Duke intervened after Allison had begged him to let Stiles go.

The year before Lady Argent moved, the Duchess became even more stringent – her fireplace was blockaded off (she got extra blankets), and she wasn't even allowed candles. And however scary Lady Argent was with her hissed threats and bribes, Duchess Argent was scarier in her sweetness, so the servants enforced the prohibition. (It was also nice just to deny Lady Argent what she wanted.)

Stiles, placed in the corner with Allison back when he followed Lady Argent around as if he were an Argent, learned a great deal at family powwows.

For one, apparently there's a difference between "family honor" and just plain "honor." Stiles still isn't sure about this. He agrees with the Duke in that you shouldn't support people's evils just because they're family, but then he'll side with the Duchess when he thinks of Scott and all the shenanigans they helped each other cover up. So it's a tough call. On the other hand, he's pretty sure the unspoken theme here is that Lady Argent is the family member in need of covering up, so that turns it into an easy one. Throw her out to the wolves, is Stiles's professional opinion.

During these discussions, Lady Argent's stance seemed to be along the lines of, "Screw honor; give me results any day."

She got shushed a lot. Nobody disrespects honor in front of the Duke and Duchess. Allison, too, now.

(Stiles's pretty sure she's going to want to come clean to her parents about Scott.

Well, not about the s-e-x part; she's not stupid. But about the l-o-v-e part.

Scott is going to have to deal with that one on his own. Stiles's place as pseudo-family-member-charity-case doesn't really come with rights to a vote.)

Two, Duke Argent had no idea why his sister was being banned from fire so strictly, but any time he mentioned it, his wife would give him The Look (Allison told Stiles that one day she would perfect it too; Stiles could only imagine it, given Duke Argent's immediate reaction of, "But I'm sure you're right").

Lady Argent must've known this is a battle she'd already lost, so she never spoke during these rare (and brief) discussions.

And three, Allison really, _really_ likes having her hair braided. A lot. In little braids; in little braids braided together; fish tail braids; French braids; name it, and Stiles can now do it.

It's not a skill he advertises. It's a skill that Scott advertised widely, however, after Stiles divulged this information.

So. It's the sixth anniversary of Lady Argent's move, and Stiles is praying to all the gods that may or may not exist that she won't try to keep him with her for hours. The fifth anniversary hadn't been that bad, and that's a big one, right? He'll be fine.

/

When he finally gets to the house, his stomach is grumbling.

(The first time it happened, he almost had a heart attack thinking the man-beast-thing was back.)

He enters cautiously, announcing his presence with a loud, "I'm here!"

Better safe than sorry. He's always under the impression that she's waiting around the corner, ready to pounce on an intruder.

His theory is proven correct, as he's just inside the door when the basket is snatched out of his hands.

"Every month, I swear it takes you longer to get here. Ooh, pie. I'm surprised you didn't eat this on your way over. Good boy."

…If Stiles had known that there was pie in there, he would've eaten it. Oh well, it's probably better this way. Lady Argent could always tell when he was trying to hide something. Luckily for him, she really hadn't cared about his childhood antics.

"Of course I would never eat your pie. Why would I do that? I firmly believe in the sanctity of pie rights. Yup."

It's a fine line he walks on, between annoying Lady Argent just enough that she'll send him away and annoying her too much. The latter is never a good idea.

This time, Lady Argent seems to be happy enough about the pie that she's ignoring him altogether.

Seriously, Mrs. McCall's pie is basically legend.

"Stiles, stop chattering and go make yourself useful."

Lady Argent, of course, does not clean. And since she won't let any servants in here, the job thus falls to Stiles. The place is small and sparsely furnished with no breakables, so he manages. He's gotten a routine down, so it only takes him two hours tops to finish. During this time, usually Lady Argent will leave to… do whatever it is that she does alone in the woods.

This time, she decides to stay. These are always the best visits.

And by "best" Stiles of course means "worst." Because even though Lady Argent does not clean, she has many views on how Stiles should do it. These may be legitimate views, since Stiles always skips the corners when she's gone, but they're nitpicky and generally end up giving him an extra hour of work.

She's curiously silent through the dusting and the changing of the linens, but once Stiles moves on to the sweeping, she starts to talk.

It's not about his cleaning techniques though.

"It's been six years since I've been here, hasn't it, darling?"

"Darling"? _Abort, abort, this is a trap… A spell? She's been possessed._ Has she finally cracked under the pressure of constant solitude?

Stiles settles for a noncommittal nod-shake-bob. He can't go wrong with that, right?

"Six whole years. I wouldn't take it back, though. It was worth it."

…"It"? Is Stiles finally getting some answers? This is just a day full of surprises and excessive punctuation.

_Quick, say something smooth and encouraging_.

"What?"

_So smooth_.

In his defense, he's still reeling from the "darling."

Instead of responding immediately, Lady Argent comes over and pats him on the cheek. It's more of a slap.

"I thought that maybe you would help me one day; that's why I took you in after all. Chris would never have let me teach Allison, the dumb fool. You were so promising, too, helping out. Until you figured out what it was that you did. Didn't – don't you see? It's better this way. I did everyone a service. There're too many mutts in this world."

What in the actual shit.

"I thought my stupid brother and his wife understood; when we were younger they helped. It's not about _honor_ like they always prattled on about, it's about _survival_. Victoria at least understands what is best for the family. Eliminate the threat at whatever the cost."

Stiles is having trouble forming words.

"The puppies… Were a threat?"

"The puppies were a test."

Stiles feels like he might be sick. But then he'd have to clean again and stay with this _madwoman_ longer, so he forces it down.

"You failed."

Thank god.

"It turned out not to matter though. My first idea worked just fine, and I didn't need any help at all. Fire is just so useful."

_Deep breaths, it's ok, deep breaths_.

"Your face," she crows. "Oh you poor baby. Is this shocking to you? After everything, I can still surprise you. Come, give me a kiss, and you can go run back to the castle and play with the other cripples."

This has to be the worst day of his life. And he's had some pretty bad days.

When he goes to kiss her cheek, guided by her hand clamped onto his face, he swears she reeks of death.

/

After basically running out of the house, Stiles has to stop and have that date with the contents of his stomach. His hands are trembling and there are tears prickling at the back of his eyelids.

Somehow, he doesn't think that Lady Argent had limited herself to animals.

He's glad that no one ever expects him back at the castle until evening after his trips to Lady Argent's because it's going to take him a while to compose himself.

He's also glad that he and Scott had explored the forest at the beginning of this fucking mad job of keeping Lady Argent tied to the real world. He knows exactly where to go.

/

There's this little waterfall that Stiles goes to after particularly nasty visits to Lady Argent. While he usually entertains himself in the forest every month – it's nice to get out of the castle and just have time when nobody needs him to do anything – he saves this place for when he really needs it.

He had Scott describe it to him once, even though he has no concept of colors, but he could feel his way around everything. So he knows just where to sit so that he can put his feet in the stream leading off and stretch his fingers out and feel the water flowing down.

It's calming, in the way that life at the castle could never be. There's always someone – several someones – bustling around, no matter the hour. Things to be done, people to be served. Pots to clean, in his case. But here, he can just sit.

He's not known for being quiet or sitting still. In fact, if Mrs. McCall could see him now, she'd probably convince the steward to have a mini waterfall installed in the kitchen. There are times, however, when all he wants to do is make sure he can still _breathe_, and this is one of those times.

Scott's the one with actual problems with breathing, but Stiles thinks he can relate. His chest will constrict and his vision will narrow until all he can focus on is his hands shaking. It was worse when he was young and Lady Argent was still around full-time, but occasionally something will trigger his panic attacks.

So he just sits and breathes, in and out, and tries to sort through everything that's happened today. At this point, he doesn't even know what to do about it all.

The man who had found him this morning had been interested in Lady Argent. He had also seemed to have a history with her, and a negative one at that.

It's easier to think of it in terms of a puzzle to solve, or a knot to untangle. Stiles can do that. Compartmentalize and figure out what the fuck happened all those years ago.

/

He's by a little waterfall when it hits him.

The smell – it's like _family_, and _home_, and all the things he never thought he would have again.

His heart is breaking and his fangs are growing, and he's almost on the boy before he can stop himself.

He doesn't _do_ out of control. He is the fucking _poster child_ for control.

But there's something about this one, and it's too much and it's too soon, and he can't deal with this right now. Last night's dinner had just been a welcome, and the Whittemores were gracious about his loss. But tonight he has to be the perfect King, and he's not ready; Laura had always been better at this statesmanship shit.

Laura's not here anymore, though, and that's why he's here in the first place.

Someone had dared to murder his sister, his _Queen_, and then a string of other similar murders had led him to the Whittemores' kingdom. He doesn't want to be here any more than they want him here, but they all recognize the gravity of the situation. The last time there had been regicide a brutal war had followed, and nobody wants that.

The Hales had been the sole family to keep their throne. He doubts any of the other ruling families even remember the originals; it's been so long. He certainly doesn't bring it up. His family remembered why the uprisings had started in the first place, so they did their best to win people over right after the war, and now they – _there is no "they"_ – he never mentions their heritage, unlike the other new families who would covet such status. They wouldn't want it if they knew what it meant to be one of the old ones. Or, Derek smiles, one of the "Others." It's just like humans, so petty and small, having to put everything into neat little boxes to separate themselves from those unlike them.

Laura had found the name amusing. She had liked all the drama of their reality; she used to make people come and tell their versions of the tale during feasts when they were young. Perhaps she wouldn't have been so brazen if people still associated the Others with the wolf on the Hales' coat of arms, but people have short memories. She definitely wouldn't have been so brazen if she had known that it would inspire that bitch to light their entire family on fire one early dawn following a full moon, after they had retired to their cabin in their woods.

Derek and Laura had only survived because they had stayed out later than the others. Laura had loved Full Moon Festivals – even after the fire, she tried to enjoy them. She had reveled with the townspeople near the bonfires for as long as she could before she had to go revel in the way that had prompted the festivals in the first place. Back before the war, when all the ruling families were like the Hales, Full Moon Festivals had been a time for celebrating their true nature, running with each other. Frolicking, as Laura had called it; "glorified games of tag," she said, and Derek had smiled because she did.

Now that even Laura's gone, Derek's pretty sure all he's going to accomplish at Full Moon Festivals is a grimace and wave, before locking himself up for the night.

He shakes himself out of his memories when the breeze brings the boy's scent to him strong again. There's something else there, too, worrying at the edges of his senses. Under the boy's heady scent, he catches a faint undertone of…

Not possible.

Except, he thought he had smelled it back at home too. He'd disregarded it then, blaming it on wishful thinking and loneliness. His last living relative had just been murdered, and he'd accepted it as normal longing to hope he had scented his uncle.

But now, he's not feeling hope or relief. Instead, he feels _anger_.

If Peter is alive, then where the fuck has he been these seven years? Even just one more family member would've given Laura and him the strength they needed. Not that they ever showed any weakness, and Laura had made a great Queen after she had come of age a year after the fire. But it was so _lonely_, and only the fact that they had always been close let them get through that time.

So he's a little mad about Peter just disappearing if he's been alive and well. He can accept, however, that things happen and he doesn't know the full story, and for all he knows, Peter has a great reason for not coming back. He certainly has wanted to run away a few times.

Mostly, then, his anger is coming from somewhere else.

He's mad because his uncle _touched his_ –

His nothing. He has to get out of here.

It's a good thing this boy lives in the forest because Derek doesn't know what he'd do if ran into him at the castle. His men would sense his feelings whether he wanted them to or not – part of being a ruler in his kingdom involved bonding with your closest subjects. The bond is meant to keep them attuned to the ruler's feelings for safety purposes; Derek is pretty sure repressed desire was not something his ancestors had anticipated. The ruler is supposed to get whomever they want, because it's not a one-way street: if it's real, it's mutual.

That can't be what this is, Derek is sure. He's spent so long closing himself off and wrapping himself up that even if – _even if_, ok, it's hypothetical – he were to find a mate, it wouldn't be this kid. Sure, Derek isn't that old, and he knows that most people would consider the age gap nothing. But the way the boy looks right now, so lost and alone – and he can smell the feelings rolling off of him and all he wants to do is protect –

And hunt down whatever or whoever made him feel like this –

And touch and lick and breathe him in and out again until the boy smells like him and he smells like the boy and everyone knows that they belong to each other –

And he just _can't do this_ right now.

He leaves.

If it's meant to be, then it's meant to be, as his grandmother had always said.

He can't tell which one wants more: never to see this kid again and move on with his life, or to see him again and _claim him_.

* * *

A/N: Can you tell by now that my real OTP is Stiles/pie? Also, ok, the next update will probably take even longer than this one. But my Tumblr will always be active? Since I can never make myself log out…


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